Only in the Darkest of Nights
by Gurubiness
Summary: In the nights before the very quickly approaching Dark Tournament, Suzuki deprives himself of little-needed beauty sleep in order to perfect his heinous costume, Shishiwakamaru keeping company. But when the fabric for eyebrows runs out... They improvise


Recently, someone subscribed to my account, so that they would be alerted when I uploaded something new; it really prompted me, after so many years. I attempted to crank out some sort of prose to upload here, but it somehow ended up as a short poem -- this was particularly strange, since I _never_ write poetry. Regardless, I want to post something new. I'll be trying to think of things to write on in the next few months, but for now I provide another role-play application sample I did a while back. While I may not have stayed at the place very long at all as Suzuki (it's just no fun without a Jin or a Rinku or a Chuu~ ;; I had a Shishi, but... we decided we'd just free-play whenever we missed them, since it just wasn't the same orz), I did really love the sample I wrote up. Hahaha~ I hope you guys will, too, then~! Best regards, and God bless, readers~!  
^3^)ノ

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The sounds of grotesque snoring filled the room. There were different pitches, different voices of Snore. One was small, squeaky, and nasally -- rather annoying, as well; annoying snores for annoying people, naturally. Another was deep, infrequent, and calm; it wasn't very annoying, but snores in general are rather bothersome, you know. And a last snore, and the one that triumphed over all of them-

"Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwornghhhhh~~~~~~~~!!!"

was absolutely heinous.

The room was dark, for the most part, with a rather old, tired, condense feel to it. The smaller, nasally snorer was spread eagled across a wide bed, the deep, calm one manuevered strangely beside him. The deepest, most disgusting snores came from a cot much too small for its sleeper in the corner. The room was, without doubt, a hotel room, with a desk and a single living chair against the windowed wall; this window exposed a dark blue sky, speckled here and there with silver stars, but otherwise strewn with grey clouds; it was a dark, tranquil night that night.

On the desk, there was a small lamp, shining a dim light over the table top. There were several scientific intruments -- scissors, scalpels, needles, a vial of liquid, a bottle of dye, a syringe of a different liquid -- and a sewing machine. On the floor, there was a box of sewing materials, neatly organised, and a set of clothes. Beneath the needle of the sewing machine lay what seemed to be the husk of a man; he was an old man, very wrinkly, with a furrowed face and a thick moustache and long, grey hair. He was, virtually, a bag, made of leathery old skin, lying emotionless, eyeless.

A pair of arms stretched tiredly towards the ceiling, the back below them arching sharply. From the living chair beside the desk, a pair of fuschia coloured eyes watched from a deadpan face. The stretcher, blonde and tone, with a handsome face, caught the glance with his own as he settled into a comfortable position in the desk chair once more.

"It's two in the morning," his companion replied. They spoke in low voices; both men dreaded the other three men wake up. The boy was lithe, with cobalt blue hair, falling past his shoulders as he sprawled himself sideways over the arms of the chair -- the way chairs were really meant to be sat in, of course. He looked rather bored, but not precisely annoyed.

"My creation is nearly complete~," the blonde replied darkly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he looked to the elderly bag beneath his machine. The samurai in the chair scoffed, turning his gaze languidly to the night sky outside the window. A few more stitches were added in silence, until the machine ceased, and the blonde held up the project triumphantly, his face was torn between disgust, pride, and dread. He administered a sharp kick to his friend's thigh, as if to say, 'LOOK.' And he did. The boy frowned.

"Suzuki-- it's almost as hideous as you are," he said in a flat tone. He was treated with a flat glare in return.

"Thank you, Shishiwaka; however, as it is meant to be so elderly, it is obviously _supposed_ to be hideous~! There is nothing more ugly, nothing more grotesque, nothing worse in the entire universe, than those decrepit with age, so old... So gross... Isn't it disgusting~? " Suzuki added with a cheerful trill, smiling at Shishiwakamaru beside him, still displaying the costume.

"...It has no eyebrows."

"Not a problem!" Suzuki cheered quietly, reaching down into his box to where the rest of the hair for the costume had been stored. There was about a two-inch by two-inch square of grey hair left... hardly enough for eyebrows. Suzuki was drained of colour, gaping for a long moment at where the hair should have been. ...He... had... run out...? His creation needed to be perfect, as ugly as he planned!! Improvising was not a possibility -- he had had certain plans! Shishiwakamaru, interested in the blonde's typically dramatic reaction, sat up to lean over the table, peering into the box to see what was the matter; and he saw, and smirked, feeling a little victorious.

"I guess you'll have to get it new eyebrows~," he mused smugly, settling back down in his chair to gaze out the window.

"Where will I get _eyebrows_, Shishiwakamaru~?! There is no place that sells eyebrows!! There is no person with ugly enough a brow to substitute for my original design!! This is terrible!! No one! _No one!!_" Suzuki cried in a quiet tone, grabbing his head with his hands in despair. Shishi perked up, turning back to the clown with -- not an insult, but what? -- a suggestion.

"What about Makintarou?"

Suzuki whipped his head suddenly to the boy, staring at him with a strange expression of revelation for a moment; as that moment passed, a devious grin grew slowly over the man's handsome face; Shishi returned the expression with a mischievously smug smirk as both men's gazes crept sneakily towards the dark-toned man sleeping obnoxiously in his tiny cot. Ma~kin~ta~ro~uuu~?

"Shishi, have I ever told you that you're very clever~?" Suzuki hummed, grinning deviously still.

"No, never since I've known you~ You've never complimented anyone but yourself~" Shishi replied in a mocking hum. Suzuki glared at him for a moment.

"Well, of course not; you're an idiot, why would I call you clever? I have morals, Shishi, unlike _some_ people," he scoffed, standing up and collecting a couple of his sharper tools from the desk. Shishi merely watched in amusement. As Suzuki began making his way towards the sleeping beast, he stopped, turning around; Shishiwakamaru was still sitting comfortably in his chair, watching with a smirk. Suzuki gave him an incredulous look, nodding his head towards Makintarou. Shishi huffed, getting up lazily and grabbing his sword from against the wall. And thus -- they approached the sleeping ugly.


End file.
